


My Mind Is Broken But My Heart Is Yours

by paintpuddles



Series: FrostIron Family Fics [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: (eventually) - Freeform, (he has some growing up to do first), (we’re all about that character growth), A bout of angst a day keeps the boredom away, Alternate Norse Religion & Lore, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anyway fair warning there is actual plot, BAMF Loki, BAMF Thor (Marvel), Blood Magic, But I’m having too much fun to regret it, Canon What Canon, Canonical Character Death, Character Dies and Comes Back to Life, Curses, He’s basically an icicle he’s hardly flammable, Loki Under Mind Control, Loki is Tony Stark’s Soulmate, Loki’s seidr is totally badass, M/M, Magic, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Minor Character Death, Norse Bro Feels, Not Canon Compliant, Odin (Marvel)'s Bad Parenting, Odin is a bit of a dick ngl, Odin is an asshole, Odin’s A+ Parenting, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Plot Is Important, Plot is actually important so I actually have one, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Tags May Change, This is probably a bit OOC, Thor (Marvel) is a Good Bro, Worldbuilding, make that a tag, obviously Loki is a frost giant what did you expect, so don’t expect characters just getting it on for fifty chapters, so if you’re looking for a simple romance this ain’t it, soul marks, this is not just a fluffporno there’s actual worldbuilding and shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-01-23 09:30:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18547030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintpuddles/pseuds/paintpuddles
Summary: All his life, Loki Odinson has believed that he is utterly alone; that he is the only one without a soulmate. Cursed with blank skin, no soulmark to guide him to his other half, Loki lives a life tainted by loneliness and misery.Loki Odinson does not have a soulmark... but Loki Laufeyson does.It’s not until he discovers his true form that Loki also uncovers a beautiful, precious, terrifying truth: hedoeshave a soulmate, but they’re not on Asgard or even Jötunheim.His soulmate is on Midgard.And there’s a curse written in Loki’s blood, one which he cannot control, but that can only end in destruction.





	1. Until the Day that Asgard Falls

**Author's Note:**

> Look who wrote a new fic instead of revising... :3

When Thor, son of Odin, is brought into the world, Asgard sings his name.

He is young and beautiful and filled up with life and hope and possibility, and the stars seem to call out to each other in joy at the coming of the new king. He is Prince of Asgard, Prince of his people, Prince of Thunder and Lightning and Storms, and his blood thrums with purity and power.

The Nine Realms praise his very name, rejoice at his birth, and give thanks for his very existence.

When Loki, son of Laufey, is brought into the world, Jötunheim screams with war.

Loki, too, is young and beautiful and filled up with life and hope and possibility, but far too soon it is stripped out of him. His ice cold planet howls with rage as its people fall and do not rise, and the King roars and leads his men into a battle he does not win. He is Prince of Jötunheim, Prince of a dying planet, Prince of Fire as his people die filled with ice. His blood crawls with pain and fear and loss.

The Nine Realms do not bother to learn his name, spit at his birth, and curse his very existence.

His mother dies cradling his small, vulnerable body to her bloodied chest. 

His screams echo in that cold, cold temple for hours. Days. Just as Death begins to hiss at the edges of his vision, his tiny body starved and trembling, a man appears. He has been told of this young Prince's existence by another who sees far in the Realms, and the man has come to collect his prize.

The man does not pause to spare any sorrow for the pitiful sight he finds. He does not hesitate to pry the frozen fingers of a dead mother open and scoop out the treasure held tightly within their grasp. The man does only what he wants, and what he wants is a Prince of Fire and Frost and Jötunheim, and that is what he gets.

The man shows no mercy or remorse, for he is not really a man at all. He is an Æsir, King of Asgard and soon to be King of many Realms, and he has no love to be lost for the Jötnar. He has no sympathy for monsters and no pity for the dead. There is no space in his small, shrivelled heart for his enemy, and he does not care to distinguish between adult and child. They all fall at his hand and at his sword, and at the hands and swords of his many men, of his brutal army, and he has no tears to shed.

There is blood on his hands, but now there is a child, too, and that tiny, defenceless child can do nothing but squirm and wail and cry as those hands grip tightly to dark blue skin and _take_.

The Æsir takes Loki away from his mother, from his home, from his planet. Everything Loki knows is forgotten, ripped away by magic too powerful for his young, fragile mind to overcome, and Loki is torn apart and put back together and made anew into what the King of the Æsir wants. Loki is still just a child, a motherless babe, when he is unmade by a heartless man; it is the first time, but it will not be the last.

The King takes his memories and his mother, his nature and his name. The King takes and takes and takes until there is nothing left, and when Loki is nothing but an empty shell soaked with tears, the Æsir carefully pieces together the necessary parts to forge a tool to fulfil his desires.

Loki's destiny is shaped by the hands of a callous king who knows no bounds. His mind may forget it, but his magic does not. His seidr _screams_ as his mind is twisted and torn apart, as all traces of _family_ and _home_ and _love_ are shredded and burned, as his very skin is corrupted and turned pale and unnatural and _wrong_. Loki's magic, still so fresh and new and weak, is helpless in the face of such a merciless onslaught. It quivers and cries and calls out for help, but none hear its trembling pleas. So young and already so wounded, Loki's magic tightens around his heart and mind and soul and swears to protect the young mage _no matter what_. His seidr wraps around him like a shield and promises that no harm shall ever befall him like this again.

Loki's magic swears a vow of justice, a vow of vengeance, a vow of _revenge._ Fluttering and frail and fragile, it slips unnoticed across the skin of the mighty King of Asgard, and in touches so light as to be almost nonexistent, it brands the Æsir with a mark of hatred and fury and pain. Scored across the king's skin in invisible ink is a promise that will never be broken:

_I will hurt you like you hurt me, I will tear you like you tore me, I will break you like you broke me until the day that Asgard falls._

For a moment, the runes glitter under the torchlight as Odin the Great hides Loki away in the depths of the palace, the young Jötun just another of his many secrets and many sins. Then the runes fade and the spell dissipates, noticed by none save maybe the Norns themselves, and Loki's seidr, exhausted and spent, hums from the depths of his newly shattered mind.

Loki was once whole and beautiful and filled with hope and love and possibility, but he is none of that any more. He has been picked apart and preyed upon and abused for the power he holds. Loki does not know it - will not know it for a thousand years - but his blood still burns with the bond of the Frost Giants; still pulls at the power of Ancient Winters. There may be fire in his fingers but there is still ice in his eyes and while all but Odin may be deceived by pretty illusions and shameless lies, the magic in his soul _knows._

Knows the white skin is mere trickery, knows the words of love are hollow lies, knows the eyes of the King of Asgard hold nothing but war.

The day will come when the curse slips free, and until that day Loki's seidr will watch and wait and whisper _beware, King of Thievery and Treachery, God of War and Death, Ódinn, son of Bor... your undoing shall be mine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Odin... you hurt the wrong person >:)
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> 
> Woo hoo, here we go, new FrostIron fic because apparently I’m going to fail my exams and who even needs A Levels anyway? :D
> 
> I have no idea how long this will be. Let’s go find out :P


	2. The Father I Thought I Knew, the Brother I Thought I Loved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the words “argr” and “ergi” are used as derogatory slurs in this, but I’ve changed the meanings just slightly from usual headcanon.
> 
>  
> 
> **Argr = womanly, feminine, weak (usually in reference to magic)**
> 
>  
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> **Ergi = womanly, feminine, gay (usually in reference to sexual orientation)**
> 
>  
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> They’re basically the same word but I’ve tweaked them slightly to refer to two different things.
> 
>  
> 
>  _Also, thank you so much for all of your lovely comments and kudos!! You guys are the bestest_  
>  (/^o^)/ <3

Asgard watches as Thor and Loki grow.

From infancy until Thor's hundredth year, the boys are near inseparable. They grow together, learn together, laugh together, and when they are old enough, argue and train and fight together. The boys explore and play and act like brothers, and soon enough a bond is formed between them; a bond of simple, easy love.

Pure. Innocent. Whole.

But for all their similarities, there are many stark differences.

The whispers start when Loki is seven. His seidr has grown with him, has learned as he learned, and now it ripples across his false skin and tears at the lie he is cloaked in. Odin is forced to strengthen the illusion, until the Odinforce is so thickly layered upon Loki's skin that not even an enchanted blade can cut it. Only the touch of another Jötun or the Casket of Ancient Winters itself could possibly break through the spell, and Loki's seidr is filled with fury. It slams itself against the barrier wrapped round his body, trying desperately to break free of the lies and the deceit. Loki is filled with a constant sense of _wrong_ , but he doesn't know how or why, and it drives him mad. 

Loki cannot understand why every time he looks at Odin, something deep within him screams. Why every time he looks in the mirror, his magic shudders with revulsion. Why every time he shows his father a new trick or spell, the man he idolises scowls and demands that he stop practicing such useless crafts, commands that Loki focus more on strategy and swords and forget all about seidr and spells. Odin does not want a mage for a son, he wants two strong, brave warriors, and he makes that abundantly clear. 

Privately, Loki cries and shouts and throws daggers at the walls, begging his empty room for answers to questions he is punished for asking but that won't leave him alone.

Privately, Odin watches Loki's power grow and worries that his adopted son will soon break free of the shackles he does not yet realise have been placed on him. Odin fears what Loki will do if he does.

So Asgard watches as Odin suppresses and dismisses and discourages Loki at every turn. And soon Thor has begun to parrot the words that fall from his beloved father's lips: magic is womanly, magic is for the weak, magic should be forgotten about and ignored. Loki gains his first derogatory label, _argr_ , and many are quick to follow in its footsteps. _Liar, trickster, deviant, thief._

Every triumph is Thor's; every failure is Loki's. All glory and honour is the God of Thunder's; all blame and dishonour is the God of Lies'. Without knowing why, Loki is fashioned into the scapegoat of Asgard. Thor is too young and naïve and ignorant to see the unjust treatment of his brother, and so follows the crowd that loves him and begins to throw dirt upon his brother's name. Loki is left to watch, horrified, as the bond between them becomes sickly and rotten and splintered, and all attempts to reach out to his brother fail. Where once Thor's heart was filled with love for Loki, now it has been swayed by fame and glory and honour. 

Loki might adore his brother, but Thor adores his father. As Odin's desperation to control Loki increases, his words become bitter and poisonous and cutting. Odin doesn't realise it, not until it is too late, but Asgard follows its king with unwavering loyalty. Every time Odin criticises his second son or curses Loki's name, people hear. Soon the whispering turns to talking turns to snarling accusations. Odin's words become the people's, and they hurl them at Loki with hatred burning in their hearts. 

Asgard forgets the young boy with hair as dark as the universe and eyes as bright as stars. They forget his smiles and laughter and easy bantering, forget the cherished bond he forged with his older brother, forget the jokes and the giggles and the grins. Now, all they see is hair as dark as the Void and magic as deadly as the daggers he wields. They don't see Loki Odinson, they see Loki Liesmith, and it makes all the difference.

By the time Loki is thirty, tension has built between the brothers, but their love for each other is still clear as day. It is still pure at the core, and Loki treasures it and guards it and hoards it like nothing else. This love is his, and he values it greatly, and he does everything he can to keep it safe. Loki follows Thor into battle and never strays from his side; he heals Thor's wounds and keeps his skin free from scars; he invents stories and lies and excuses for all of Thor's mistakes and misdeeds and wrongdoings. Loki knows, by then, of the rumours murmured by the Æsir, that he is naught but a liar, and he puts his skills to good use. He learns to talk as smooth as honey and smile as sweet as sugar. His silvertongue may be mocked by many, but it keeps Thor from harm on many an occasion and Loki does not care if his name is sullied so long as he has his brother.

Loki thinks that this is what love is: being hurt and dismissed and downtrodden and suffering it all willingly for the sake of the one you adore.

By fifty, the first rift has formed between the two, a little harder to simply ignore. The cracks become ravines as the years tumble by, and at eighty there is a gaping hole in the ground upon which the two Princes of Asgard stand. Neither is quite sure when or how it got there, but both know deep down that this kind of wound is not so easily mended.

By the time Loki is a hundred years old, he and Thor stand on two completely different worlds. Loki lives a life in the shadows, his words slippery and his few relationships flimsy and faint. Thor lives a life as Asgard's golden prince, praised at every turn and beloved by all. Loki has grown secretive and distrustful, while Thor has grown arrogant and brash. One seeks isolation and knowledge, the other adoration and battle. 

The brothers are distant, but the bond is still there, after all this time. It is flickering and weak but it lives. Had there been reconciliation and remorse, forgiveness could have been found between the two.

But then, one fateful day, Sif asks Thor about soulmarks.

Specifically, Loki's.

All of Asgard knows that Thor's soulmark rests on the smooth skin of his right shoulder. The circle is thin and faint - indication that his soulmate has not yet been born - but it still holds a clearly identifiable rune in its centre: the rune of Midgard. Ever since discovering that their Crown Prince is fated to be bonded to a soul from Midgard, Asgard has sworn to protect the planet even more viciously than it has in the past. No harm will come to any on Midgard under Heimdall's careful watch, and while many a fair maiden in Asgard is left disappointed, the city celebrates the prospect of their coming Queen.

None, however, have seen Loki's soulmark. There is no Æsir who has glimpsed it, and rumours run rife through the city as to its location and shape. Many mutter that surely the Trickster will be fated to a Dark Elf or even a despised Jötun. Their cruel murmurs speak of the monster that will carry the other half of Loki's soul, that will surely be as twisted and nasty and repulsive as him. 

Not even the most malicious of Æsir have ever guessed the truth, for it is presumed impossible: that Loki does not have a soulmark at all.

It is his most heavily guarded and utterly loathed secret; more than the shame of his failures or the hatred of his father or the illegal lust that burns through him. Loki has never hated his skin more than when he stares at it and sees how truly blank it is. Perhaps that is why his seidr shudders, he thinks - because it knows that he is only one half of a missing whole, and he will never be complete.

The Æsir have long speculated that Loki will be bound to some hideous monster or beast, never realising that perhaps he already is one. For what kind of monstrosity would he have to be, to be deemed unworthy of love? Incapable of affection? Undeserving of a soul?

Truly, the Norns have cursed Loki to misery and aching loneliness, but it is a sorrow that he suffers alone.

Loki only ever shared his greatest shame with Thor, whilst they were both still waist high and innocent. Neither had truly understood the significance of the secret Loki told, but Thor had sworn himself to silence nonetheless.

With only bitter arguments and harsh words between them now, what was to stop Thor from opening his careless mouth and setting Loki's darkest secret free?

All it takes is a handful of thoughtless seconds for Thor to blurt it out. 

"He doesn't have one."

Four words. Only four words, but they end everything.

The bond between Thor and Loki finally ruptures and breaks in a way that is irreversible. A hundred years of brotherhood die in the face of such blatant betrayal. Odin may have been the first to break Loki's mind, but it was Thor who was the first to break Loki's heart.

After all, it is the ones we love that have the power to hurt us the most.

Asgard is filled with cruel laughter as the story spreads through the city like blood in water. Loki is left to face thousands of smirks and glares and barbed comments, children whispering to each other about the monster in the palace - the monster without a soul.

The cruelest of rumours are so often fashioned from the truth, and Loki learns an important lesson that day.

If you want to truly, deeply hurt someone - all you have to do is rip them open, expose the darkest parts of them to the world... and laugh.

So Loki hides and hurts, and eventually he hates; his world falling apart as his strongest and most sacred relationship crumbles. Thor, of course, soon realises his reckless mistake, and rushes to apologise - but it is too little far too late.

Asgard had once spoken of how perfectly the two brothers fit together; how Loki and Thor were like reflections in a mirror. They had meant it to compare their similarities, but now they turn their focus on the differences. 

Just like yin and yang, the two princes collide in a clash of opposites. There is Thor, the brave warrior, the bright masculinity of yang. And then there is Loki, the cunning mage, the dark femininity of yin. Thor is praised for his strength and his skill; Loki is condemned for his deceit and his womanliness and accused of being argr. Ergi. Wrong.

What had begun as the most pure of loves now burns as a passionate rage. So fine is the line between such emotions... and how easily the two brothers cross it. They tumble into an easy hatred that only breaks them further, tearing open wounds in their hearts that no one but the other can heal. Of course, they won't. They bring out the worst in each other, because no one knows the other better than they do. It is so horribly simple to hurt the person they had once sworn they loved unconditionally as if that love had never existed at all. The Jötun and the Æsir inflict their inner pain on each other, their painful actions reflecting the larger conflict between two vastly different worlds. And as Asgard and Thor prosper, Jötunheim and Loki perish.

So it becomes: Thor learns to solve his problems with his fists, and Loki with his lies. Thor falls victim to his own ego, and Loki to his own self-loathing. Thor thinks of his childhood memories and wishes he could return to them, and Loki wishes he could erase them. Yin and yang, black and white, Jötun and Æsir; what had once been a beautiful union now disintegrates into a familiar battlefield.

Yet despite it all, they both seek attention and approval and affection. Both yearn for forgiveness and family and friendship. Both brothers crave love, more than anything, and if they could only see clearly for one moment they would realise that they could find it once more with each other.

But they do not see clearly, because they are hurting. Pain and guilt and regret cloud their minds and they fall into patterns of defend and attack, of frustration and retaliation. They see only each other's flaws and failings, never once realising that once they had gazed into each other's eyes and seen family instead.

Loki's skin buzzes constantly now, rising to itching and scratching when Odin and Thor are present. The magic flowing in his blood always howls to be released, to be set free, and Loki tries, he tries his best to grant the independence it so desperately seeks, but he doesn't understand. Loki doesn't know it, but his seidr is angry and it thirsts for revenge.

No one knows it, not yet, but that time is soon. So soon.

.~* .~* .~*

Odin watches Loki bury himself deeper and deeper in magic; drowning himself in his loneliness and knowledge and power. And Norns, is there power. Loki practices his magic with an almost single-minded attention and devotion - and it shows. The Odinforce stirs restlessly in the back of Odin's mind as it registers this other force, this alien strength, growing stronger day by cursed day. 

It doesn't matter what Odin does - what cruel depths he sinks to - be it slandering Loki's skills or finding every excuse imaginable to dampen and weaken and block Loki's magic. Every mistake, every rebellion, every time Loki so much as steps a toe out of line, Odin is there with cold words of punishment and metal cuffs that trap the Jötun's seidr and force it to remain shrieking beneath his skin.

Resentment bubbles within Loki, boiling over into absolute hatred, only encouraged by the magic that remembers, that knows what Odin did, and Odin is powerless to control it, never mind stop it.

It matters, more than anyone - even Loki - knows. Because Odin needs to control Loki. Odin needs his forgotten and ridiculed and despised second son, because Loki wields a power that not even Odin can possess.

It's the reason Odin stole the young, harmless child in the beginning; why he snatched a babe from the dead hands of the enemy and raised him in the comfort and safety of his own home. Why even now, Odin continues to try and control a God who refuses to be collared or controlled.

Loki is the forgotten second Prince of Asgard, but he is also the forgotten second Prince of Jötunheim.

And Odin needs him - needs a Jötun - because deep within the vaults of Asgard is hidden a dangerous, valuable prize. Another treasure stolen from the icy lands of Jötunheim the night that Odin swept through the frozen plains, levelling cities with his armies and his magic and his unyielding hatred. It was not just a child that Odin stole from the Jötnar; no, there was also the very heartbeat of the planet itself, its very life force.

All of the magic of an entire planet, trapped in the Casket of Ancient Winters. Unimaginable power, locked beneath metal, kept secret in Odin's tight clutches.

But the King cannot wield the Casket the way he desperately wishes he could. Despite his many attempts, the power remains distant to him, far beyond his greedy reach.

Only a Jötun may channel the power of the planet; only one of their own may take the heartbeat of their home and direct its creation and destruction.

A Jötun who managed to unlock the Casket could restore a planet and make it anew... or they could bring it to its knees and watch it burn.

Odin has been placing down his chess pieces in carefully calculated moves for a long time. He is the God of War, after all, and he does not abandon his game just because the battle is won. No, he sees it, in the future - the battle still yet to come - and he makes his moves to ensure that, as always, he comes out on top. Only Odin shall emerge from this gory battlefield victorious. A thousand years of plotting have ensured it. A thousand years to shape Thor into his successor and Loki into his weapon. A ruler and a political pawn.

Or so he thinks.

He does not know of the shimmering runes that still cling to his skin after all this time, their silent promise still raging in the night. Loki's soul remembers being unmade. It remembers being broken.

And now the time has come, finally... and Odin shall be made to suffer.

.~* .~* .~*

Odin had planned for Loki to be cut down and carved into a puppet king. He had sought to make Loki the next ruler of Jötunheim, outwardly appearing as a monarch but secretly dancing to the tune of the true ruler: Odin, son of Bor, King of Asgard and soon-to-be King of the Nine Realms. 

Once Odin had ensured that Loki was chained to him and slave to his every command, he had planned to arm Loki with the Casket. With the power of Ancient Winters roaring through Loki's fingers - and by extension, through Odin's - the King had planned to do great and terrible things. 

The Æsir made a fierce and loyal and efficient army... but the Jötnar were brutal and ruthless and _expendable_. Odin could afford to lose hundreds of Frost Giants if need be in an invasion of Alfheim or Vanaheim. Definitely for the deadly dwarves of Nidavellir. Asgardians would be the race to rise from the ashes of this inter-realm war... but it mattered not if the Jötnar were turned to dust.

The key was Loki, the key was the Casket. Gaining its strength would double Odin's power, he was certain. He just needed a way to unlock the Norns-damned thing...

If only Odin had known that the unlocking of the Casket would be the beginning of his end.

All it takes is Thor's desire to bathe in the thrill and honour of battle. He seeks the adrenaline rush and the endless praise. Who better to fight than the monsters every Æsir child grows up fearing - the beastly, savage Jötnar?

All it takes is Loki's hardened but still bleeding heart softening once more at the sight of Thor's peril. Even after all of those hurts, how could he let his only brother die?

All it takes is Loki rushing to Thor's aid, crashing down onto the planet he has not touched in a thousand years, and racing to the wounded Thunderer's side. Healing spells burst from his fingertips and daggers fly from his hands as he fights to save the life he had once sworn he loved and since then sworn he hated.

All it takes is one stray touch. One Jötun who gets too close and brushes navy fingertips over Loki's exposed skin.

Loki turns blue.

All it takes is a few frozen seconds for Loki's world to screech to a halt.

Loki stares. He stares and he stares and he stares and suddenly it all makes a terrible sort of sense.

Of course Odin had always hated him; he was a monster.

Loki's seidr shouts with triumph as the illusion shatters, and Odin panics. The Odinforce surges out from Asgard, rumbling across Realms to strike into the heart of one lonely, confused Jötun. Thor, newly healed and uncomprehending, watches as Loki collapses to the ground.

Loki's magic howls with rage as blue snaps back to white and red morphs back to green. The mesh of spells coating every inch of Loki's skin tightens and hisses like a poisonous net clutching tightly to its prey. It is a trap, but now Loki knows he is caught. Now he knows he is restrained and controlled and it fills him with fury.

Odin tries to prevent Loki from discovering the truth, from escaping his chains.

It is a mistake.

.~* .~* .~*

Odin forbids Loki from entering the vaults. The King slams Gungnir to the floor of his palace and commands that no one shall enter.

Loki laughs and snarls and smiles brokenly, and then he rips through every word and binding that passes the King's lips. Odin fights with desperation, but Loki fights with rage.

Odin watches, horrified, as his worst fear takes form: Loki's magic roars up within him, and the Odinforce is shaken with tremors as it crashes through Asgard. Loki doesn't just draw from within himself, from his own magical core, but from Yggdrasil itself. It is incredible and awe-inspiring and terrifying.

Loki should not be able to do this. Not like this. And never so young.

And then he blazes through Odin's protective enchantments and storms into the vault. He cracks open every last defence, and then Loki does something irreversible.

He touches the Casket.

The Odinforce trembles. Gungnir shivers. Odin pales.

Loki grins.

Madness and magic and tortured hatred rush through the second Prince of Asgard and burst out of him like the first rays of a new, exploding star being borne into the world. Loki's seidr explodes out of him, snapping every last strand of Odin's spells and unleashing all of Loki's anger on Asgard.

There is chaos.

In the golden throne room that Odin has presided over for so long, the unwanted Prince of Asgard confronts the man who dares call himself the King.

"You branded me the God of Lies, when all you have done is lie! My entire life, nothing but deception and manipulation! Why? _Why!?!_ Why did you let them taint my name with the sin of argr when your greatest strength has always been your magic?! You hypocrite! Coward! Lying, cheating bastard!"

"You forget your place, Loki Odinson. I am your King. I command yo-"

"Odinson! _Odinson!?_ You dare to pretend that I was ever your son? How could I be, when you hated me so absolutely? How ashamed you must have been, O _Mighty_ Odin, to tell the people that _I_ was your second son. What an embarrassment I must have been for you. The prince that no one wanted."

"I have always been proud of you, Loki."

"Oh? Then why hide my true nature? Why curse me to be something I'm not? Why cage me and control me and corrupt my very core?!"

Loki stalks forwards, the usual roles reversing as Odin becomes the vulnerable prey and his stolen son the vicious predator. Loki smirks as power rolls beneath his skin, mixing with his pain and his fear and his anger in a potent mix of deadly intent.

Odin, for the first time in thousands of years, stumbles back a step.

Gungnir gripped tightly in his hand, he stands on the steps of his throne room and prepares to fight for his crown and perhaps even his life.

But Loki cares naught for a golden crown and far too much about the heartbeat of a liar and a traitor. Gungnir swoops through the air, a powerful strike blasted towards Loki, and the Prince smirks and sidesteps it, his body slipping through the air unnaturally fast. He whips around and narrows his gaze back onto Odin, and then slices a sapphire blue hand through the air and watches shards of ice smash against Odin's protective shield.

The throne room collapses into battle; a half Prince and a greedy King hurling spells and curses with a ferocity never witnessed before on Asgard. Heimdall stares in wonder and horror at the two powers that collide and explode and feels his heart stutter when he realises that _they are equal_. Two men, both brimming with the life force of a planet. Either could win this bloody fight, and the outcome has the potential to change the future of not only Asgard, but all of the Nine Realms.

This could be catastrophic.

It is a fight between two opposites in a clash as old as Odin himself: an Æsir against a Jötun; Asgard battling Jötunheim. Magic cracks and snaps and explodes in the air between the two men, one so old and apathetic and the other still so young and wrought with emotions. 

The stars and the Norns themselves gaze upon the deadly battle with rare fascination. They find themselves unable to tear their focus from the deadly magic that flashes between the two men.

The future of the Realms hangs between the two mages, and only one will be able to snatch it.

Shockwaves of raw power ripple outwards from Asgard as the battle rages on, sweeping out across the universe and beyond. Throughout the Realms, all those gifted with seidr stop and stare in amazement at the pure energy radiating from the heart of Asgard. 

But there is one thing that they are all ignorant of. One more power at play; one extra factor that will tip the scales heavily in one direction.

Gungnir and the Odinforce are merely another tool, another weapon that Odin commands and controls and bends to his will. Without him, it is inert and lifeless and silent. No more than a switch to be flipped on and off at will, manipulated by whoever owns the title of King.

Loki's seidr is not such a meek and feeble thing. It is not so tame and malleable. It is wild and dangerous and answers only to one. It is a living, breathing presence forged from Loki's own soul. Loki's magic, only days old, was forced by Odin to change and adapt and evolve. Loki's magic was forced to be _more_. To overcome. To survive.

And it remembers.

Remembers the pain, the loss, the cruelty.

The promise.

So when Loki has Odin cornered on the steps of the throne room, Loki's seidr shakes free from its shackles and roars.

Loki's seidr expands out across his skin, flaring bright green on the blue of his skin, and it tastes the freedom and liberation in the air, smells the fear and the panic clouding Odin, spots the perfect opportunity and grabs it.

Loki's seidr leaps at Odin, sharp claws reaching out and embedding themselves deep in the Æsir's flesh.

Runes flash like flames across Odin's skin. No longer too faint and weak to even be noticed, the curse rips into the Odinforce, howling and biting and burning, screaming promises from a millennia past.

_I will break you like you broke me as you watch Asgard fall._

Odin cries out, trying to defend himself, but it is no use. Loki's seidr, made far stronger than it should ever have been by trauma and terror and then countless hours of practice and study, shreds Odin's shields and buries deep into him.

Then it detonates.

There is an explosion like a bomb in the throne room, and Odin's body is sent flying backwards. Loki stumbles, struck dumb at the sheer power that just erupted out of him, and stares wide-eyed at the unconscious body of Odin, son of Bor, King of Asgard. Odin the Mighty.

But now Odin the Conqueror has become Odin the Conquered. 

Loki's seidr chuckles with dark satisfaction, and then settles back into his sapphire skin, humming with wicked contentment.

.~* .~* .~*

It is then that Loki glances down and finally sees it.

There, glowing faintly on the palm of his right hand: 

_His soulmark._

.~* .~* .~*

Odin falls into the Odinsleep for five days. The Æsir scream about the attempted assassination of their King. Thor bellows about the treason of his adopted brother, who he declares has sided with the Jötnar. The Crown Prince gathers an army of confused, scared, angry Æsir and leads a strike against Jötunheim in retaliation for their perceived attack. Frigga cries and shouts and begs for her sons to stop and think, but neither listen to her pleas.

When Odin wakes, it is to destruction.

Asgard is once again at war with Jötunheim, with Thor leading a bloody invasion against the Frost Giants. Loki stands against him, using magic to halt the famed Thunderer's advances while the Jötnar either fight or flee. Lives are lost on both sides, but neither heeds Frigga's calls for a ceasefire. 

Odin summons Heimdall, and the faithful Watcher uses the Bifrost to transport the two princes away from the battlefield. Standing on the rainbow bridge, caged in by those who have hurt him, Loki attacks.

The spell slams against the shield surrounding Odin. It crackles and fizzes, but the shield holds. It takes the combined strength of Odin and Heimdall to hold Loki back.

"Loki, STOP!" Odin's command snaps through the air like a whip. Loki's blazing eyes harden and pin the King with a furious glare.

"You hid my soulmate from me!"

The accusation is riddled with pain and longing and heartbreak, just like the soul of the man it came from.

"You knew, you _knew_ that my true skin bore a soulmark, and yet you kept it from me. You let me think..." Loki trails off as awful memories of nights spent sobbing and screaming rise unbidden in his mind.

"Loki, please," Frigga begs, tears gathering in her eyes as her family falls apart. Her pathetic sobbing only infuriates Loki. Where was she, when all of Asgard turned on him?

“Loki-”

" _I have been so alone!_ " Loki screams, his voice shattering just like his mind did so long ago at the hands of the man he was tricked into calling father.

Frigga is the first to see it: the devastation that burns in Loki's eyes. She catches sight of the glowing rune etched into Loki's palm, the same rune that Thor's skin carries. Midgard. Loki's soulmate is of Midgard, and for thousands of years they have believed...

Frigga feels dread slowly sinking through her chest like ice. The Midgardians have been taught that Frost Giants are monsters; Asgard's prejudice bled over into other Realms during and after the last War. If Loki's soulmate understands what their rune means...

 _They could reject Loki_. And if the haunted look Loki sends the people he once called family is anything to go by, Loki has already realised it.

"You have taken everything from me," Loki whispers, voice made of nothing but ragged shards.

Loki stares at his hand. His past is a lie, his family is filled with traitors and his soulmate...

His soulmate is already alive. A mortal who has already burned through so many of their precious years. Years Loki could have spent by their side, gone. And how many more will it take for Loki to find them? How many more shall he lose?

But of course, none of that matters. Because Loki is a Frost Giant. A Jötun. A monster.

Loki knows the mortal Realm - knows that they share so many similarities in appearance with the Æsir. He is a fool if he thinks that they could ever accept a blue-skinned beast. A freak of nature.

He has nothing. No one.

But Loki will try.

Loki is desperate and foolish and weak, and _he will try_. He will fall at the feet of his soulmate and beg them to take him, to give him just one chance. Loki will praise them and cherish them and protect them with everything he has; will shower them with gifts and compliments and fulfil their every desire. He will do everything and anything - even if it means living his life as an illusion, as a lie. Even if it means doing the thing he hates the most, even if it means pretending to be something he is not. He will do it all.

Because Loki is so achingly desperate to love and be loved, to belong.

He will do anything.

"You are not worth the air you breathe," Loki hisses, anger burning in his eyes. His heart burns with betrayal and his seidr fizzes with fury, but he turns away.

They do not matter now. Only his soulmate, only Midgard. Asgard and Jötunheim can fall - he does not care.

Maybe, just maybe, Loki can find the other half of his soul... and with them, finally, happiness.

It is then, as Loki prepares to run across the branches of Yggdrasil to land on Midgard, that it happens.

A sudden fire erupts across Loki's hand and chest and mind, roaring and burning and inflicting agony upon each cell of Loki's body. He cries out, the Casket slipping from his grasp as he drops to his knees, vision blurry with tears and heart hammering in panic.

Loki raises a trembling hand and stares in utter horror at his soulmark.

The beautiful blue and green and brown colours that are embedded into his skin are slowly draining, reverting to a dull grey-black. 

_His soulmate is dying._

Loki cries out in terror and unleashes his seidr in its entirety. Every last drop of his magical power rushes out of him, blazing towards Midgard with sheer desperation. Trying in vain to find his soulmate before it's too late...

The universe ripples as Loki's magic slams through it. It races to Midgard, encircling the planet in a huge net, before diving down in thick strands to hunt through the population for that precious one...

But there are billions of souls on Midgard, and Loki is running out of time.

In a lab in New Mexico, Jane Foster gasps in shock as her measuring equipment goes wild. The readings are off the scale, breaking every record imaginable. She calls out in alarm for her assistant as she witnesses the impossible.

In a temple in Tibet, the Ancient One's eyes widen as she gazes at an impossible feat of magic descending on Earth. She reaches out to the invisible tendrils spearing the ground and feels unadulterated terror. It makes her wonder, makes her fear, whatever has caused this panic.

In a palace in Wakanda, scientists stare at data they can't explain. A Prince and a Princess turn to their father as he lifts his face to the sky. T'Chaka does not know much of what has occurred, but he does know this: something is wrong.

Loki's seidr jumps to rational, logical conclusions and searches the world's largest cities first. It tears through Shanghai and Beijing and Mumbai, then Delhi and São Paulo and Mexico City and Tokyo and New York. But Anthony Edward Stark isn't in China or Japan or Mexico or India or America.

He's in a cave in the desert in Afghanistan. So isolated and remote that it would take weeks, months, years of searching to ever find him.

And Loki doesn't have that long.

Doesn't have any time at all.

In a cave in the desert in Afghanistan, Tony Stark's head is held beneath water for a couple seconds too long. Water floods his lungs as he spasms on the cold stone floor. Surrounded by terrorists and clutching a car battery, he drowns.

On a bridge above the Void in Asgard, Loki Laufeyson feels something in him rip and shatter, and his heart stutters in his chest as he feels the light in his soul go out. Colour vanishes from his soulmark and hope vanishes from his scrambled mind.

His soulmate is dead.

His soulmate is dead.

His soulmate is dead.

Loki screams.

His seidr, millions of miles away and collapsing in mourning, begins to tear itself apart. Loki, suddenly so cold and empty, has not been this hollow since Odin ripped him open and took what he wanted.

"Oh, my son..." Frigga whispers in horror, reaching out to comfort her child. When her hands touch Loki's skin, he suddenly snaps and lashes out.

" _Get away from me!_ "

Loki lunges. He grabs hold of the Casket of Ancient Winters, just another thing stolen from a dying planet Odin had no right to, and in a fit of grief and rage, smashes it into the bridge.

Abruptly, the colours rushing through the rainbow bridge falter and dim. The gathered Asgardians stagger backwards in shock as a large crack appears in the ancient bridge. 

"Stop!"

Loki hears nothing and no one as he breaks them like they broke him.

Mjölnir slams into Loki's side, knocking the Casket from his hands and sending him sprawling across the bridge. Powerless and half-mad with grief, Loki stares up at the man he once called brother. The stranger he thought he had loved.

What a fool he had been.

"I'll take him to the cells," Thor says coldly, eyes sharp with anger as he looks at Loki.

Frigga muffles a sob, but does nothing.

Odin steps forwards and seizes the Casket, and something in Loki flares protectively. He won't let Odin have the heart of his homeland, he won't...

Loki may be devoid of magic, but that doesn't make him powerless. The Æsir forget, because they always forget, that Loki may argr and ergi, but that doesn't stop him from being skilled with a sword and deadly with a blade.

One of Loki's daggers cuts through the air, aiming straight for the King of Asgard. Thor misses it, and Odin barely has time to swipe Gungnir through the air in front of him and block the attack. The dagger clatters to the ground and Thor roars, hammer raised high before he brings it swinging back down.

Loki scrambles back from Mjölnir, but the hammer crashes into the bridge in front of him and the shockwave sends him flying backwards. For a terrifying moment, Loki sails through the air and catches a glimpse of the endless darkness beneath the bridge that waits to trap him like a silent predator.

Loki's hands catch the edge of the bridge before he slides off entirely. Hanging on the edge, his heart racing and mind screaming, he dangles precariously between life and death.

Thor's shock and regret paint themselves across his face. His temper dies, quickly replaced by concern. Even after all this time and all this hurt, there is still love there between them. The bond is fractured and damaged and in places even broken, but its remnants remain and they flicker now, as Thor rushes to his brother's aid.

Odin follows, glinting eye narrowed and fixed on Loki. As the Asgardians reach the ledge where Loki clings to life, Odin's fingers wrap tightly around the symbol of his power. Silently, he holds Gungnir out to Loki in an offer of a saving grace.

Unthinkingly, automatically, Loki takes it. His fear makes him stupid, his heartbreak makes him vulnerable. His usual defences are gone and in their place are the shards of the man he used to be.

Loki stares up at that one unblinking eye, and the truth rips free from his lips.

"I only ever wanted to make my father proud."

Odin stares at the tears that gather in broken but still defiant eyes, and he realises that his pawn has been lost. Loki will always rebel against him, will refuse to bow to his commands, and now is too powerful for Odin to hope to control. 

The game is over. Neither has won, but both have lost.

It is that realisation that lets some of Odin's masks crack and slip away, even just for a second, and the burning, bitter truth he has held tightly to for a thousand years ghosts across his lips. An angry hiss only one will hear.

"You were never my son."

Loki is already so broken when he is unmade by a heartless man. It is not the first time, and it will not be the last.

There is nothing.

No family. No magic. No soulmate.

What more does Loki have to lose?

He lets go.

.~* .~* .~*

Thor cries out as his brother's silent form drops into the Void. He knows, just as they all know, that death awaits him. For one grief-stricken moment, Thor charges forwards, determined to follow his brother over the edge and rescue him from the pits of despair, but a golden spear slams across his chest and holds him in place. Odin says nothing as he holds Thor back, as Loki tumbles into nothingness, as a soul plunges into darkness and is lost to them forever.

The bond Thor so carelessly pushed aside throbs inside him. His eyes burn with tears he does not have the strength to stop.

"No! Please, _no!_ "

_He can't be gone. He's my brother._

.~* .~* .~*

Deep in the darkness of a universe not yet discovered by those dwelling in the Nine Realms, a monster that pretends to be a man lifts his head.

He watches as a soul drops over the edge of Asgard. He watches as none try to stop it. He watches as the Void swallows it whole.

Time races by, inconsequential to the monster. Still, he watches.

The soul splinters and fractures. It breaks and forms and breaks again. It drowns in grief and the isolation torments it. Slowly, it goes mad.

He watches as the soul's seidr races after it. Watches as a vast ocean of magic plunges through the endless Void and chases after its master. Watches as they are both doomed to fall for eternity.

Power sweeps through the monster and sharpens his grin. And then he reaches - out across galaxies and realms and entire universes - and wraps his hand around the silent body of a broken soul.

Yes, this one will do nicely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooo... this was super long. 6K iirc. Go me.
> 
> :D
> 
> Honest thoughts?
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> _Also, I know Thor acts a bit dickish in this chappie, but remember - he grew up loved by basically everyone and there is no way that didn’t go to his head. So yeah, he chooses attention over his brother. He’s young (in terms of Asgard) and stupid and has a lot of growing up to do._
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> Hope you liked it! :)


	3. This Monster that I Am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Maybe this is wishful thinking,_  
>  _Probably mindless dreaming,_  
>  _But if we loved again, I swear I’d love you right_  
>  _I’d go back in time and change it, but I can’t_  
>  _So if the chain is on your door, I understand._  
>   
> 
> _But this is me swallowing my pride standing in front of you saying I’m sorry for that night._  
>  _And I go back to December..._  
>  _Turns out freedom ain’t nothing but missing you,_  
>  _Wishing I’d realised what I had when you were mine._  
>   
> 
> _I go back to December, turn around and make it alright._  
>  _I go back to December, turn around and change my own mind._  
>  _I go back to December all the time._
> 
>    
>    
> \- Back To December, Taylor Swift

It is a surprising truth, but a truth nonetheless: even monsters are capable of love.

Most monsters, in fact, are in love with many things. So often people dismiss them as utterly incapable of such _good_ emotions, for surely heartless beasts cannot feel anything at all?

But monsters _do_ love; it is undeniable. Certainly, not all of them, but a vast range of creatures fall deeply and irrevocably in love. Even the mad are capable of adoration; even the broken are capable of devotion.

No, the ability to love is not what separates man from monster, despite what many think. Rather, it is the ability to love _selflessly_ that truly differentiates between the two.

For a monster is capable of love, but it is incapable of loving outside of itself. Monsters love in dark, twisted, obsessive ways that so often lead to destruction - perhaps even the destruction of their object of affection. Most monsters love power, some love fear and suffering and death - a startling number love themselves and view all others as beneath them. Love, something so timeless and admired and advocated for, becomes just another fracture in the psyche of a monster.

This mutated version of love is internal, self-serving and one-sided. Selfish. Incomplete. Dangerous. The love of a monster promises nothing but misery - regardless of the nature of the obsession. Nobody benefits but the monster; its love focuses purely on itself. What the monster wants, what the monster desires - these are its only concerns. Even if a monster were to fall for an angel - should such a thing be possible - the angel would never be the recipient of any true affection or kindness. Truthfully, the monster would merely take whatever it wished from its latest fixation, and then its love would be abandoned and forgotten - if the angel was still alive by the end of the ordeal.

No one ever expresses gratitude for the love of a monster.

It is a lesson that Gamora has learned well.

She watches with crossed arms and a carefully blank face as her father greets his latest "guest". Said guest has eyes made wild by madness and a grin so broken you could almost cut yourself on the pieces. Clearly, this is a man who has suffered - but Gamora knows that there will be no relief or recovery in his future.

He is in the hands of a monster now.

As Thanos wraps his large hand around his guest and lifts him by the throat, Gamora glances at her sister. Nebula looks as furious as always, the metal embedded in her face and arms glittering in the low light. There is blood still drying on her fingers and jaw, and guilt clenches Gamora's stomach. She is the reason Nebula's blue skin is stained red; she is the one that made her sister bleed.

It always happens like that - Thanos smirks and throws the two sisters in a ring and demands that they fight. Gamora never intends to hurt her sister - not initially - but eventually survival instincts kick in and before she even knows what she's done, there is blood dripping down Nebula's face and pain flaring in her eyes. Not just the pain of the injury - it is the pain of the repeated betrayal in Nebula's eyes that makes Gamora flinch.

Gamora loves her sister, she does, but in the end she always chooses survival over her.

Gamora wonders if that makes her a monster too.

.~* .~* .~*

Thor stands on the cracked remains of the rainbow bridge and gazes over the edge.

The Void swells beneath him, dark and ugly, stretching out twisted, gnarled fingers to reach for him and pull him under. To drown him.

Thor shudders.

Behind him, Asgard is in disarray. The palace is a mess of broken pillars and smashed windows; piles of rubble are strewn throughout the throne room like bizarre decorations. Odin has fallen into the dreaded Odinsleep again, drained by his confrontation with...

_Loki._

The name has fallen from Thor's lips a hundred thousand times, but now he cannot bring himself to say it. His brother, a man he had once loved so utterly...

Fallen.

Gone.

_Dead._

And what does Thor have in his memory? Biting, angry words? Choking regret? A miserable wish that he could go back and change everything?

Where did it all go so wrong?

Thor wants to blame everything on his brother - and at first, he had. But he cannot forget the look of total horror on Loki's face as he stared at his fading soulmark, or the raw agony in his voice as he screamed, or the awful resignation on his face before he simply... let go.

What horror could possibly make a mage as powerful as Loki Odinson _want_ to fall?

Perhaps it was the shock of losing his soulmate. Grief does strange things to people. But Thor isn't satisfied with that answer. Maybe some people would lose their other half and immediately throw themselves into oblivion, but Loki wasn't _some people._ Thor knew his brother - or at least, he thinks he did - and for Loki to give up so quickly was... it is simply incomprehensible. Loki had never relented in such an abrupt and total way in his entire life. Thor refuses to accept that losing his soulmate could drive his brother to such all-encompassing despair in only a handful of seconds.

Loki is - _was_ \- strong.

It had taken two days for Thor's temper to settle enough for him to consider everything with a clear, calm head - but now he does, and he finds himself confused. Nothing makes sense. Loki's recent actions were bizarre and their father's even more so.

And Loki... Loki had turned blue.

Thor had grown up with Loki as a brother - he was practically immune to jokes and pranks by the time he reached five hundred. He likes to think he is hard to startle or unnerve, but seeing Loki with blue skin and bloody crimson eyes was not something could ever have prepared himself for. At first he'd thought it was some sort of huge mistake, because there was no conceivable way...

Thor crosses his arms tightly over his chest and scowls into the darkness. The truth of Loki's race and heritage makes Thor feel sick. If Loki truly is a Frost Giant - and Thor's still having a hard time accepting that - then it means that... Loki and Thor were never really brothers.

And that thought makes Thor horribly uncomfortable.

His clenches his jaw and his eyebrows furrow. _No._ Norns be damned - _Loki is my brother and he is loved-_

 _No,_ Thor's mind whispers back in a melancholy hush, _Loki **was** your brother... and was he ever truly loved?_

Questions, doubts and regrets whirl through Thor's mind. He has always prided himself on his fighting skills and battle prowess, but now Thor forces himself to think through things logically. It's what Loki would have done - what he was always telling Thor to do in his most patronising, condescending tone - and if there was anyone that knew how to get themselves out of any situation, it was Loki. 

Loki had run rings around dwarves, Dark Elves and Jötnar with ease. Thor would do something "unimaginably stupid" and then there would be Loki, rolling his eyes and muttering about idiocy being contagious, rescuing his brother with quick words and quicker wit, and if necessary a blade embedded in a throat or two. Thor didn't realise how much he had relied on his brother until he was gone.

Thor glances down at his bare forearms. They are covered in bruises and he knows there is a large gash in his side that still hasn't fully healed. Thor never worried about injuries during battle before - why would he? Loki was always there with a murmured incantation and warm, soothing magic. But now a realisation strikes Thor in the chest and leaves him breathless.

He'd never been afraid of dying in battle, as long as Loki was there. He knew that his brother would protect him, no matter how bitterly they'd fought or how harshly they hated each other. In the end, they always went back to what they knew: that ancient bond that thrummed between them, steady and sure.

And broken. Now it is broken.

And Thor is alone.

So Thor stands, slowly healing and shocked by the debts he never knew he'd owed his brother, and feels shame. Deep, slicing shame that claws at his pride and tears it to shreds.

Thor stares at the crack on the bridge, feeling cold and somehow empty. Loki's words echo in his mind.

_I have been so alone._

Was that truly how Loki had felt? That he'd had no one? _He had me!_ Thor wants to shout. _Despite all of our grievances and acts against each other, he always had me._

Thor knows it's true. Even after Loki had betrayed him, betrayed _Asgard,_ and tried to kill the King - Thor had rushed to pull him up, away from the Void. By the Norns, he had almost thrown himself over the edge after Loki! There is something deeper and more complicated than just familial love or affection between them - something that is burrowed into Thor's core and makes it impossible for him to ever walk away from Loki. It is a loyalty carved into his bones like a universal truth. Thor could hurt Loki, could curse at him, could even hate him - but Thor could never kill him. Something would always stop the Thunderer from committing that ultimate betrayal; something that is sewn into his very being. A brotherhood he could never leave; a kinship he could not deny or ignore.

Thor wants to reach into the Void and grab his brother; strangle him for his stupidity and crush him to his chest in a tight hold he'll never escape. He wants to hug Loki, yell at him and shake some sense into the mage's head. Why, _why_ had Loki let go!? Norns damn it all, _why!?_

Thor feels like he's rummaging around in the dark, looking for answers he knows are there but are just out of reach. Loki is a Frost Giant, has a soulmate and tried to kill the King of Asgard? His own father?

His _father..._

Dread plunges through Thor. If Loki is a Jötun, how in the name of the Norns is he Odin's son? Unless... but he has to be... but...

Had Odin _lied?_

But why would the Allfather lie? He had no reason to. How would he benefit from taking a child other than his own and making them a Prince? A false heir?

Uneasy tension fills Thor and makes him shift uncomfortably. Asgard is utterly loyal to its King; none question his might. Thor had never doubted Odin's intentions or actions before, but now...

But now Loki is dead, and Odin had done nothing to stop his second son from falling to his doom.

For the first time, Thor opens his eyes and _sees._ No longer blinded by childish idolisation or naïve optimism, Thor picks apart the events of the past seven days with a searching gaze. 

He doesn't like what he finds.

Was this what Loki had always seen? When he had berated Thor for being closed-minded and foolish, was this what he meant? That Thor couldn't see past his hero-worship of his father and total faith in his King? That he never once wondered whether something more insidious lurks beneath the glittering gold of Asgard?

Thor had always believed every word that passed his father's lips, and now he feels like a fool.

Who is Loki's father?

Loki's magic had always been strong - even as a small child, he had been able to glamour himself and alter his appearance. By three hundred he was a talented shapeshifter and had perfected the art of astral projection. It had always made perfect sense that Loki's magical abilities were inherited from Odin.

But now... now it doesn't. 

If Loki didn't gain his magic from Odin, then who? Who could possibly be so powerful; have that much magic running in their veins?

And if Odin was Loki's father... that meant that... Odin hadn't remained faithful to Frigga.

Oh, damn it. Damn it all to Hel.

Thor clenches his fists in frustration. This confusing mess of tangled truths and lies and secrets is enough to drive a sane man mad, and Thor is already broken by grief and regret. Norns above, how he wishes Loki was here with him now, rolling his eyes and snarking about how incompetent and dimwitted his brother is. Thor... Thor would give almost anything to have Loki here, now, snapping and glaring and just... _here._

He's been a fool. A bloody damn fool.

But he won't be again. He'll learn from his mistakes.

He has to.

He can't ever lose something so precious again.

.~* .~* .~*

When Thor returns to the palace, he discovers it cleaner and brighter and being made anew. Already, holes are being filled and cracks smoothed over and covered. Asgard is rebuilding, quickly and efficiently; a golden city rising from its ashes once again. It is not the first time Asgard has fallen; Thor hopes it will be the last.

But still - still his mind returns to his brother.

Thor can't deny it; he is troubled. For the first time in his cheerful life, his unending, unquestioning loyalty to his father has been  stripped away, and all that is left is doubt and confusion and burning anger.

And grief. By the gods in Valhalla is there grief.

When the first - and now, _only_ \- Prince of Asgard enters the Gathering Hall, what he finds strikes him dumb with shock.

Odin is throwing a feast.

As the hundreds of Asgardians gathered along the long wooden tables catch sight of Thor, they cheer. Praise for their golden hero rings throughout the room. Thor gapes. What in all cursed Hel...?

"My son!" Odin proclaims, beaming from his seat at the head of the highest table. Everyone gathered claps and cheers. "Come, we are celebrating!"

"Celebrating? Father, what-"

"You have been missing for hours, you haven't heard the news!" Hogun appears at Thor's side, clutching a large tankard of mead in one meaty hand and grinning at his friend delightedly.

"News?" Thor questions, utterly stupefied by the joyful atmosphere of the large, noisy room.

For one traitorously hopeful second, he thinks maybe Loki has somehow miraculously returned. Just for a moment, Thor dares to think that maybe he has not lost his brother after all.

"The date for your coronation has been set! The Allfather awoke several hours ago, but is still weakened by the vicious attacks from the Jötun monsters. He will be returning to the Odinsleep in three days, and he has announced you as ruler of Asgard in his place!"

Thor's mind blanks out. He can't believe what he is hearing.

"'Tis such wonderful news, my friend!" Fandral exclaims excitedly as a small crowd begins to form around Thor. People he has loved and laughed with for hundreds of years smile and clap and raise their drinks in recognition of his success. He can see pride in their eyes and happiness in their faces. They are happy for him.

Why?

Don't they realise how heartbroken Thor is? Do they not know that a terrible tragedy has just occurred? Can't they see his grief written plainly on his face?

"Here I present your new King of Asgard!" a drunk Asgardian hollers to the room, so thoroughly intoxicated that they don't realise - or care - that they have just broken several etiquette rules. 

The room erupts in boisterous yells and hoots, several warriors clanging axes together or pounding the floor with the handle of their weapons. The roar of noise is overwhelming, and Thor feels horror and dread rise in him as he realises that they are all truly celebrating.

None are mourning. None are grieving the loss of one of the most talented and valuable people in all of Asgard. Do they even notice the absence of their powerful mage? Can they sense the hole that has been ripped in the very fabric of their home? Does anyone even care at all?

"Enough," Thor growls, his famed temper flaring as he finally realises that he alone is mourning Loki's loss. He alone suffers from a depression that threatens to cripple his mind entirely. He alone cannot stop that name from running through his mind, unleashing new waves of horror and regret and devastation the longer he lives. 

They are glad. These people, whom Thor would have once died to protect - they are glad Loki is gone.

They see him as a curse from which they are finally free.

Fury ruptures somewhere deep inside the Thunderer and dark clouds rapidly gather over the golden city. A small disturbance echoes through the Odinforce, alerting the king to a volatile presence growing stronger by the minute. Small sparks flicker across Thor's clenched fists as his blazing eyes sweep across the room in a murderous glare.

None heard Thor's words the first time, but they do not miss them upon their second utterance.

"ENOUGH!"

Thor's bellow shatters the happy mood of the room instantly. The gathered Asgardians fall silent as they stare at their prince in confusion and surprise. A few wonder if perhaps the heir to the throne intends to give a speech, but quickly a shocked sort of realisation spreads through the crowd. Finally, they notice that Thor is dressed completely in black; that his eyes are tired and angry and his obsidian cloak is draped across a tense body. Whilst the Æsir are clothed in all their finery, Thor is dressed as if he is attending a funeral.

Slowly, too slowly, they realise their mistake.

"How _dare_ you celebrate so frivolously, so uncaringly, when a great man has just been lost?! How dare you laugh and cheer when you should all be mourning the death of one of our own? He was my brother! He was my brother, and you think I care about a flimsy crown!? I do not care! I DO NOT CARE!"

Thor scowls as the crowd of people around him begin hastily backing away. Lightning crackles around him in bright slivers, eager to snap at the people so carelessly forgetting the man they did not deserve.

Thor glares at Hogun, who has gone still and silent beside him, gaping at his shield brother.

"You think I want to celebrate my coronation? Truly? You would think so lowly of me?" Thor demands. 

Hogun has no answer. Thor leans closer, eyes alight with fury, and Hogun trembles slightly at the towering Thunderer. 

"I would rather have a day with my brother than a thousand years with the crown," Thor snarls, and then storms away.

But no matter how furious he gets, a small, dark voice in the back of Thor's mind keeps whispering that it's so _wonderful_ that he's defending his brother's honour _now_ , but where was this undying loyalty when Loki was alone and caged in by all of Asgard? Where were his proclamations of love then?

Thor may curse them, but truly he is just as bad - if not worse - than every Æsir in this glittering, golden room. For a millennium, Thor was their golden boy - but it is only now that he questions what exactly the price was that he paid for such an _honour_. Because he suddenly realises, as his heart burns and his throat turns raw, that nothing would ever be worth the love and life of his brother. Nothing could ever be worth as much as Loki.

And he realised the truth too late.

The hall is silent in the aftermath of Thor's declaration. Upon his throne, Odin's fingers flex around Gungnir as he scowls. It would appear that Loki has managed to sabotage Odin's plans even more than he had originally thought. Apparently grief has worked wonders for Thor's maturity. Of _course_ it has. Thor is a blundering idiot who never faces consequences; he's probably reeling in shock. 

This will not do.

"Thor Odinson," Odin calls, his voice echoing with power.

Thor falters as he hears his name. He turns, grieving eyes instantly finding his father, and wonders whether perhaps he is mistaken. Perhaps he is not the only one feeling Loki's loss so deeply and terribly?

Then Thor sees the white tunic, the golden cloak, the feast spread before his father on a wide, heavily laden table. And he knows, then. Knows that his father was celebrating just as merrily as ever other traitor in this room - was perhaps celebrating the most.

Loki always claimed that he was unloved, mistreated; cast aside and forgotten. For the first time, Thor thinks that maybe it was true, and he was just too busy being beloved to see it.

There is shame, now, scratching at Thor's rib cage. Guilt clawing at his heart and tearing it slowly to pieces. Regret poisoning his blood and spreading through him, burning like fire. Everything hurts, but nothing hurts more than the realisation that he failed his brother. Not just failed him - _hurt_ him. Let others make him bleed. 

And then claimed he loved him.

"That is quite enough. You shall change into your ceremonial robes and join us for a feast. Tonight shall be a night of triumph, kinship and unity. We shall all be together and share in our joy and success."

Odin's calm words spread an ease through the crowd that allowed the people gathered to relax once more. There are claps and muted cheers, the raising of tankards and wide smiles. The tension of the previous minutes is quickly locked in a box and forgotten, in favour of mead, meat and mindless banter.

Just like that, Thor and his grief are dismissed.

All of Thor's shame and guilt and anger and regret crash together painfully, sending spasms of agony shooting across his chest. Hatred blooms like a deadly flower in his heart; hatred of himself, but also all these others he sees before him.

The Æsir always claimed that Loki was an outsider because he was a monster. Now Thor wonders whether Loki was an outsider because he was the only one who wasn't. The only one who could ever be considered _good._

Loki had had his faults; they all did. But Loki's flaws didn't define him. They weren't all he was. Loki was more than a liar. Thor had been one of the few lucky enough to witness who he was underneath. And he'd wasted his chance.

Just like Odin.

For the first time in his life, Thor stops wishing he could be more like his father. He cringes at the similarities he sees between them. Thor turns his gaze away from the man he has always looked up to and refocuses on himself and his faults. For the first time in his life, Thor wants to be less like his father and more like his brother.

Loki may have insulted him, jeered at him, chosen his race over their people. But he would _never_ have laughed and cheered at the thought of Thor being dead. Even at his lowest, Loki would never have sat as Odin does now, goblet in one hand and grilled meat in the other, absentmindedly discussing banal topics with a demure Frigga, as if he had not just lost a son. So utterly careless you could be forgiven for thinking he was attending a tea party.

Loki was not perfect. He'd chosen Jötunheim over Asgard. He'd spent years belittling Thor's intelligence and mocking every choice he made. In a fit of rage and grief, Loki had tried to _murder their father_. But Odin had lied and betrayed their trust. He'd allowed Asgard to torment its own prince. Odin had stood on a breaking bridge with a broken man, and _he had done nothing._

Thor had thought he loved Loki, then he'd thought he hated him; had only seen the best of him and then only the worst  - but now, Thor thinks he finally sees the truth.

Because when Thor had been seized by thoughtless rage and stormed across the plains of Jötunheim, cutting down every Frost Giant he came across, the brotherly bond between them had been at its weakest and worst. Thor had been selfish, ignorant and callous. All he'd cared about was glory, and he'd spared no thoughts for the consequences. Thor had been at his absolute worst; fighting Jötnar because he could, seeking violence instead of peace. Dishonourable, shameful, _wrong_. And yet, despite all of that, when a blade went through Thor's side and he fell... 

Loki came. Loki rushed to help him, even though he was nothing but a hot-headed, arrogant, reckless brat. Loki helped him, even when he didn't deserve it, without him having even asked.

After all the broken promises, betrayals and injustice - Loki was still there, watching his back, healing his wounds, saving his friends.

But when the roles were reversed and Loki fell apart, spilling all of his flaws out onto a rainbow bridge... Thor fought him, and Odin forgot him.

So the truth Thor sees is this: Odin may be king, but Loki is the better man.

The shock of that reality does not hurt nearly as much as the question of how the Hel Thor ended up taking the side of a monster.

And whether he is one, too.

Thor thinks of Loki, of the phrase he'd thrown like an accusation time after time: _it is what we do, not what we say, that reveals who we truly are._ Thor had once considered the quote to be nothing more than empty words, but now he sees the wisdom buried in it.

Countless times, Thor has said that he loves Loki, that Loki is his brother, that they are family.

When has he ever shown it?

Now. He will show it now.

Thor can feel it: that whatever decision he makes next will likely change his future completely and permanently. He does not care. Or perhaps the problem is that he cares too much, and he cannot let this go.

Thor watches as tables are pushed aside and music is struck up. Æsir flock to find partners for the first dance, and Odin nods along to the tune with faint amusement. Frigga sips wine and engages two other Asgardian women in amiable conversation. Fandral, Hogun, Sif... everyone Thor has ever called his friend, even _shield brother_... none of them care. Loki is dead and everything is wrong and none of them care.

But Thor does. Thor does, and it makes him feel invisible.

.~* .~* .~*

Thor leaves the hall with lightning crackling across his knuckles and his irises burning bright blue. Odin demands that he return for a hearty feast and dancing. Thor doesn't.

Cloaked in the black of the mourning and grieving, Thor stands alone in the Garden of the Gods. Hundreds of white marble pillars are spread across the emerald grass, carved with the names of powerful deities. There is a statue for Thor, God of Thunder, Lightning, Storms, Fidelity and Hallowing. It is marked by his symbol: a bolt of lightning. Next to his statue is another - Loki's, the God of Mischief, Lies, Chaos, Fire and Serpents, marked by his symbol of two intertwined snakes forming an S.

Only the Allfather can give permission for a new God to be declared. Thor and Loki had both received their titles from Odin when they reached five hundred years, as was tradition. Thor hadn't noticed anything amiss so many centuries ago, but he does now: why had Odin declared Loki the god of so many negative, destructive things? Mischief? Chaos? Lies? Why not shapeshifting or seidr? Even magic or ambition? All of Thor's faults had been ignored - he certainly could have been the God of Recklessness, or Arrogance - but all of Loki's had been highlighted.

Yet another injustice that Thor had been blind to, and Loki had been forced to suffer in silence.

The statues glow faintly as Thor stares at them. This had once been a source of endless pride for him; proof of his achievements and glory. How shallow he had been. Unable to see how hollow his trophies were, how empty they left him. Unaware of what really mattered.

Thor thinks of the last words he ever said to his brother. _I'll take him to the cells._ Realises with a cold sort of horror that the last thing he ever did to Loki was hurt him. Hit him. Swing his hammer and send Loki tumbling to his death.

And he thinks of Loki, only a handful of years old, whispering to his brother in the safety of their rooms that he's worried, he's _scared_ , because he doesn't have a soulmark like everyone else.

_I think it means that I don't have a soulmate._

__

__

_It's okay, Loki. I'll love you instead._

Tears burn Thor's eyes and spill down his cheeks. Remorse pools in his chest and stomach and make them hard and cold. But what use is his grief and regret when it can't bring Loki back?

Thor steps forwards and presses a shaky kiss to Loki's statue. His tears flow faster as his heart constricts and the reality of what he has done finally hits him.

Loki is gone. Loki is dead, and it's all his fault.

If only he had listened to him, stayed by his side. If only he had ignored the slander and lies of people filled with jealousy and bigotry. If only he had kept his promises. If only, if only, if only...

"May you find rest, brother," Thor chokes out, "and may the Norns guide you to Valhalla."

Loki has to be granted a place in Valhalla. He has to be. If he is placed in Niflheim, or cursed to Hel...

Thor can't think about that. He can't.

"I have always loved you, Loki. Even when I did not know it, I have loved you. I know... I know that I did not show it, and you will not believe me. But I do. I love you, Loki. And I cannot fix my... my many wrongdoings. But I am listening now, to the words you so often told me. I shall not just speak of my love. I shall show it. I hope... I hope you are watching, in Valhalla. You deserve a place there, more than any of us. What I can, I shall make right. For you."

The words fight Thor as they are spoken, scraping against his throat and hammering his chest. It is difficult, almost painful, to speak them, but they are more important than any discomfort Thor is feeling. Loki is the priority, not him. He is not here to make himself feel better. It is high time he learned to put others first.

Loki's needs are greater than any of his own.

"I am sorry," Thor whispers, barely containing the sobs that want to break free from his aching chest.

Thor kisses the statue once more, and then stands back. Gathering the power of hallowing around him, Thor closes his eyes and presses one hand to Loki's statue.

"I, Thor, son of Asgard, God of Hallowing, declare Loki, son of Jötunheim, God of Lies, Mischief, Chaos, Fire and Serpents, to be one of honour, courage and strength. You have served us well; may the Norns grant glory unto you, and may your soul be filled with light and love. I thank you for the gifts you have bestowed upon us all, bless your name and wish that your journey onwards may be smooth and swift. May the stars carry you on their shoulders and the Norns in their hands to a better place. May we not forget your service and your sacrifice. May you be safe in eternal peace. By the will of the Norns, so be it."

Thor opens his eyes slowly, and watches as the statute changes from bright white to soft silver.

It is not the first time Thor has declared the passing of a god. He'd recited the prayer as was tradition, with only minor adjustments. He hadn't wanted to declare either of them as son of Odin, and so had used their motherlands instead. It would have no effect on the ritual, but Thor couldn't bring himself to give Odin the honour of claiming Loki as his son. He doesn't deserve it.

There should have been hundreds of flowers. There should have been candles and ribbons and small gifts. There should have been a crowd of mourners gathered with their heads bowed in respect. Heimdall should have been there, hopefully confirming that Loki had been granted entrance to Valhalla, enabling Thor to change his statue to gold.

There should have been so much more - but all Loki has in his memory is Thor, his tears and a small white everlasting flower placed at the base of the silver statue. Loki may have been a trickster, an outcast and a Jötun - but he deserves more than this.

Loki had been dishonest, unreliable, ergi, maybe even argr... but he hadn't been a monster. So why had they treated him like one?

The Æsir's treatment of the mage said more about Asgard than it did about Loki.

Thor takes a deep breath, fighting back another wave of sorrow. He had never imagined that he would have to declare his brother's death. When he had first announced Loki as a god and blessed his statue, he had never realised that one day it might also be his brother's grave.

They'd always felt so invincible. Untouchable. Unstoppable.

Now he only feels broken.

_Loki is dead._

Thor turns away before his grief destroys him completely.

Anguish soon turns to anger, but now it is directed only at himself. His watery gaze lands on his own statue and the honour he does not deserve. Thor gave up everything - including his own brother - for this power and respect, the admiration and attention. No matter how much Thor regrets it, his self-centred mistakes are irreversible, but it is Loki that has paid their price.

Loki didn't let Thor fall on the battlefield, but Thor let Loki fall on the bridge.

Loki deserved so much more than what he got; Thor got so much more than what he deserved.

Loki was hated. Thor was loved.

Loki is dead. Thor is free.

None of it is fair.

How could the Norns allow this? Where is the justice? How could the Norns allow the Æsir to sing and dance and cheer when they had committed so many wrongs against one vulnerable man?

Thor is not innocent. He had heard the names and slurs thrown at Loki for centuries, had even added some of his own when his mood was foul enough. He'd never learned from his mistakes, or made his friends learn from theirs. He'd taken advantage of Loki, undervalued and ignored him, treated him as something that could be easily replaced. Thor had broken a promise, broken his trust - probably even broken his heart.

And he will face no consequences, because he never does.

Thunder rolls above Thor, and rain begins to pound the soil as his temper rears its familiar, ugly head. Mjölnir crackles at his hip as Thor stares at his statue.

He does not deserve it.

Thor pulls on his power once more, and strides the short distance to his white statue. He places one hand on it, and recites the words he never thought he'd say - and never over his own statue.

"I, Thor, son of Asgard, God of Hallowing, hereby strip Thor, son of Asgard, God of Thunder, Lightning, Storms, Fidelity and Hallowing of his titles for failure to fulfil his duties as god, brother and friend. As the Norns punish him for his misdeeds may he learn the error of his ways and set his path straight. May he be guided by the light of the stars and the threads of the Norns back to his rightful, destined path. May the only power he seek be that of love and loyalty. May he use his gifts only for good, and one day be worthy of his titles once more."

For a moment, Thor hesitates.

_I have been so alone._

_I'll take him to the cells._

"Only those who are proven worthy of such power and blessed by the Norns themselves may claim these titles as their own. Until then, they shall remain forsaken."

Thor's breath hitches. His power scratches and scrambles beneath his skin. His heart hammers.

_A bridge. A battlefield. Blood. Lies. So many lies. Anger. Hurt._

__

__

_Screams._

_Agonised, terrified screams._

"By the will of the Norns, so be it."

.~* .~* .~*

The Odinforce shrieks.

.~* .~* .~*

Thor watches as the faint glow of his white statue flickers, splutters and dies, as if it were a candle beneath a soft breeze. The marble now seems dull in comparison to its shining neighbours; plain, ordinary - as if there is nothing special about it. The way it should always have been.

Thor is not the glorious hero he always imagined himself to be. He realises that now; it is time the world did, too.

What makes Thor more than ordinary is also what makes him less than good. His superior strength has given him inferior patience and humility. His ability to call for Mjölnir is now one of the reasons he cannot call Loki his brother. He can strike lightning into the ground, but he can also strike fear and resentment and even hatred into the hearts of those he loves the most. Thor is known for his fighting, his confidence, his violent temper. 

That will not be all that he is.

But for something to be fixed, it must first be broken. And Thor intends to fix a lot.

So he breaks it.

The dull white marble is now speckled with pale, dusty grey - freckles that will soon turn to patches and, in time, coat the statue completely. Eventually, it will be black in its entirety; as black as cloak that screams Thor's grief, and the Void into which Loki was lost.

All who look upon the statue will know of Thor's sins; the ebony curse will cry out to all who listen that he has been stripped of his titles, declared unworthy of his gifts.

Let them look.

Maybe then, they will finally learn.

Thor raises Mjölnir - the weapon he was once so proud of, the power he used to fight instead of fix, the hammer he used to strike his brother when he was already weak - and strikes her against the top of his statue. His aim is true, and the marble lightning bolt that has been his symbol for so long is cleaved from the rest of the statue in one sharp movement. The heavy rock falls to the ground with a thud, cracks radiating from its tip, and Thor glares at it for a long moment, breathing harshly.

Thunder bellows overhead. The rain becomes a downfall, almost torrential in its beating of the earth. Thor stands still, and lets it pound him, lets it hurt him.

It cannot possibly break him even more than he has already broken himself.

Thor's gaze does not waver from the rock at his feet. He fixates upon it as if it were all of his flaws, faults and mistakes made solid and whole; as if it were the personification of everything he has ever done wrong. It is no longer a source of pride, but instead shame. The bolt represents not his glory, but the burden of his wrongdoings.

The Norns had given Thor the power to light up the skies. In return, he had made himself blind.

_I have been so alone._

And now Thor is, too.

Thor's heart is heavy and cold as he lets Mjölnir slide from his grip. Watches unblinkingly as his precious hammer smashes into all that he ever was and shatters it beyond repair. The marble cracks and crumbles, rough pieces falling apart to lie scattered on the ground, wet with the rain and the tears Thor cannot stop. A rough outline of the shape the marble once made is still visible; an echo of a lightning bolt now fractured and ruined on the ground. The bolt will never glow again; will never be blessed and turned to silver or gold.

It is cursed to ruin.

It is a fitting punishment.

Thor takes Mjölnir into his hands once more; holds her firm, holds her steady. In the black skies above, there is a single crack, a single flash, a single bolt of pure, white lightning. 

There is silence.

A roar of thunder.

And then it is still.

Thor lets the sight of his penance burn into the farthest reaches of his mind. Lets this memory of grief and regret strike deep into him, lets this lesson be one he shall never unlearn. Lets himself hurt, so he will not forget.

_It is what we do, not what we say, that reveals who we truly are._

Thor has reflected and regretted. Now, he repents.

Then, he stands tall. He lifts his chin, rolls back his shoulders and breathes deep. Fills his lungs with clear, cold air. The rain has cleaned everything, left it pure. His tears have done the same. His pain has done it best, done it the most. Shallow goals and repeating mistakes have been torn away. His ego has been cut to the quick, his ignorance has been burned by shame. His eyes are finally open. This chapter in his life is finally closed.

Thor looks one final time at his broken statue, and then his brother's own, whole and shining soft silver. A reflection of where he is now, and where he one day hopes to be. 

Thor's path has been changed, shaped and rewritten. He has broken, so now he will fix.

The God of nothing, son of Asgard, lone prince of his people, closes his eyes, walks away.

And starts anew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter fought me tooth and nail. It did not want to be written!! Don’t worry, I beat its ass eventually :D 
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> **to all the people leaving wonderful, amazing comments: _thank you_. You are the reason this even got written.**
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> Thor has finally gotten the smack upside the head that he deserves! It hurt, but he needed to learn this lesson. He’s still as impulsive and emotional as ever (he literally just smashed up his own statue in the Garden of the Gods... **can’t wait til Odin finds out! Cause like... Thor did you even think this through at all? :,) mate you are ten types of dead** ) but our boi is making progress. Hallelujah!
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> And yes, I’m having heaps of fun playing around with Thor’s abilities as God of Hallowing. I’ve never seen a fic explore it (apart from Thor being a priest at a WinterIron wedding lmao) so I thought - why not? This’ll be fun :D so yeah... lots of hand-wavey Norse magic ahead :P
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> _...Canon? What canon?_


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